


Taking It Deep

by Sanguinifex (Eros_Scribens)



Series: Zevwarden Week 2016 [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Accidental Sex, Body Horror, Broodmother AU, Broodmothers, Broodmothers (Dragon Age), Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Erotic Electrostimulation, Extreme Fantasy Tentacle Spitroasting, Implied Transformation, M/M, Mind Break, Other, Read the tags for the love of the Maker, Sexualised Broodmothers, Spitroasting, Tentacle Bondage, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacles, Xeno, ZevWarden Week, Zevwarden Week 2016, cannibalism mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7659631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eros_Scribens/pseuds/Sanguinifex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Broodmother AU. You have been warned.</p><p>For Zevwarden Week, Day 2: AU Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking It Deep

**Author's Note:**

> Broodmothers can have any gender identity. Right? Right.

Nothing much had ever happened in this part of the Deep Roads. Darkspawn paid no mind to it, or brought it deepstalkers to eat. But suddenly there were clangings and lights, and a group of strange creatures burst into the broodmother’s chamber.

It fought back, moving limbs by instinct, and soon all the strange creatures lay still. More food, then. It picked up the one that had fallen nearest to it, and swallowed the bloody corpse.

As soon as the broodmother tasted the blood, it experienced a sudden cacophony, and then the all-ruling song of the archdemon and the horde suddenly ceased. Instead, it--he--remembered.

He had once been an elf. He had once been a skilled, dexterous assassin. He had been sent to assassinate a high-ranking dwarven noble, something about the lyrium trade, while disguised as a woman, an “exotic consort.” The target had preferred taller women, he seemed to recall, and fortunately they only had to be tall in relation to other dwarves. And he had failed in the mission (something something species differences in poison dose-per-pound, perhaps compounded by having to use dried herbs), and had been exiled to the Deep Roads.  There, the darkspawn had found him, and done things to him. Until he began to...change, it had only been slightly worse than some of what the Crows had made him do as training.

And now, he was an essentially immobile beast. His arms were the same as ever, if weaker and flabby, but instead of legs, he had hundreds of prehensile limbs that he had no idea what to do with. After a little trying, he found he could move a few feet if he moved all of the tentacles at once, but the effort caused the stone floor to scrape strange, sensitive flesh. He gave up. It hurt too much, and besides, there was no way his new bulk could fit through any of the visible doors.

One of the bodies on the floor was moving now.  So perhaps they had just been caught at the edge of a tentacle sweep and knocked out cold upon landing. Before the broodmother could collect his suddenly unfamiliar limbs to defend himself, the survivor had reached the base of him and plunged his hands into the softer, moist parts there. Where the eggs came from, he realized. And then there were sparks, and the world went white.

When he came to himself again, his attacker, a mage it seemed, had been thrown back away from him by his paroxysms. The cowl they wore had been knocked off, revealing pointed ears and close-cropped red hair. An elf, a man too, he thought.  Not that he blamed him for attacking him, of course--he knew well that he was a betentacled horror and endless progenitor of the Blight.

If it could be called attacking.  It had actually felt pretty amazing; apparently his new form’s cloaca was a hundred times more sensitive than what he’d had for generative organs before.

But now the mage, thinking no doubt that the spasms he’d caused last time were indicative of severe neurological damage, was coming forward again, fists once more crackling with electricity. Well, two could play this game. The broodmother seized the mage in several tentacles, really a couple more than were strictly necessary, and sent another two to explore the man’s crotch.  Just enough to get the message across, really. The mage’s spell fizzled out; apparently he was too shocked to cast it.

Strange--this close, now that he was touching him, he could tell that the man had a bit of the Blight in him, too. He did not appear to be a ghoul; perhaps he was one of those Wardens he’d heard about, seen in the distance as he’d been shown around the city by his target. That explained why they could not catch the Blight, since they were part of it. Traitors to the singing miasmatic particles in their own veins, these Wardens. If he weren’t so distracted presently, he might have seethed with anger at the very premise.

But it was a pity he’d probably have to kill  _ this _ Warden. Perhaps the man was only stunned into acceptance, but he was responding beautifully to the tentacle groping. When he moved the tentacles away for a moment, his captive actually whined and tried to arch up for more contact. As gently as he could, the broodmother stripped the robes and smallclothes off the mage, leaving his lower half exposed. He then quickly dipped one of his designated groping tentacles into his cloaca, shuddering at the touch; he knew that what he intended to do next required lubrication.

Carefully, he stroked a tentacle across the pucker of the man’s anus. A slight resistance, and then it was inside--and then suddenly there was a lot more lubrication than he could account for.  Worried he’d caused some injury, he withdrew the tentacle to check for blood, and was momentarily puzzled when he saw what appeared to be clear grease. Right. Mages. They could do that. He re-inserted the tentacle, much more easily now, worming it further in.

He continued until he felt a slight pop, and then greater pressure around the tip of his tentacle.  He was puzzled at first, and then realized that he had passed through the colon and penetrated the small intestine. An idea occurred to him. He wriggled another tentacle into the mage’s mouth (he sucked obligingly), and then continued to probe down the man’s throat into his stomach.  Slowly he pressed further, through the pyloric sphincter, and then long minutes later, wonder of wonders, he was able to touch his tentacles together inside the man’s guts.

The mage’s erection had never waned, and as he was filled to maximum capacity, he climaxed, moaning around the thick tentacle in his mouth and spraying seed seemingly almost to the cavern ceiling. He was so overcome that he sprayed lightning from his hands involuntarily, partially hitting the broodmother’s cloaca, which in turn sent him to ecstasies of pleasure. Finally, their peaks waned, and the broodmother slowly, carefully withdrew his tentacles from the Warden--and the stimulation, combined with the renowned Warden stamina, caused the man to climax again.

To the broodmother’s amazement, though, the Warden once freed did not resume his attack. Rather, he curled up by his tentacular base, and began humming. It was the treble of what the archdemon had used to sing.

\----------

“Zevran? What’s this on my stack of Blight research reports, and if I’m translating this right, what drugs did you take last night?”

“It was some kind of mushroom that I bought from a dwarven merchant. I followed the dose instructions he gave me, but the proper amount is different for elves, I think. Also, some cannabis and orichalcum. I recall the effects were rather pleasant, but I do not remember writing anything. Or really much else, I am afraid. I am going to have to analyse that mushroom.”

“You appear to have written in alternating Antivan and Orlesian. I saw ‘broodmother’ and started translating, and then...please tell me I’m mixing this up with Nevarran dirty words.”

Zevran scanned the pages.  That was definitely a slightly erratic version of his handwriting, and that was definitely…

“I did not know I was into that,” he said at long last. “In fact, I am still not sure I am into that.”

“Being a broodmother?”

“I do not know! I never thought about it. I must say, that is the one thing the Crows never made me fuck. That, or squids.”

“I’ll just burn these, then.”

“No, no, amore, do not do that! We want more research funding, no? I know a certain dwarf who runs a printing press.”

**Author's Note:**

> I literally couldn't think of another AU that wouldn't require several k of worldbuilding. Blame Mevima for bemoaning the lack of Dragon Age tentacle fics. Also, thank her for beta'ing this.
> 
> All anatomical impossibilities are intentional. And yeah, idfk what's up with Zevran and gender. Pretty sure he doesn't want to think about it.


End file.
